


The Durmstrang Boy

by YouKnowNothinJonSno



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Academics, Albus' favorite owl Iremia, Canon Compliant, Experimental Magic, Fawkes - Freeform, First Meetings, Fluff, I had a whole story planned but I might just post this one chapter, M/M, Magical Creatures, Manipulative Gellert Grindelwald, Meet-Cute, Obscurus, Plot, Practical magic - Freeform, The Deathly Hallows, Theories, Young Albus Dumbledore, Young Gellert Grindelwald, Young Love, academic banter, bitter dumbledore, complicated families, finding comfort in each other, for the greater good, obscurial ariana, radical beliefs, theoretical magic, what really happened to Ariana
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-12 22:39:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15350295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouKnowNothinJonSno/pseuds/YouKnowNothinJonSno
Summary: After the death of his mother, Albus is forced to care for his disturbed little sister Ariana while Aberforth completes his studies. The little town of Godric's Hollow feels stagnant to Albus, until one day he runs into a curious boy from Germany who might just be the most important person he'll ever meet.





	1. The Durmstrang Boy

**June 23, 1899**

 

_My dear Elphias,_

_I must regretfully inform you that our plans for a Grand Tour of the Wizarding World will have to be put on hiatus, perhaps indefinitely. As you know, my mother has just passed, and with Aberforth busy supplementing his education with summer classes, I am the only one able to care for my dear little sister. You may, of course, go on the tour without me if you so desire — in fact, I encourage you to do so while you can — so long as you write me letters detailing the extent of your adventures and findings. Remember to visit the chimeras in Greece for me, if you do._

_Your sincerest friend and colleague,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

 

Albus scrutinized the letter for a long moment, eyes catching on the greeting. ‘My dear Elphias.’ It was too obvious, too intimate. Elphias was a bright young man like Albus himself, and Albus was lucky that he hadn’t figured it out already. Four years of lingering touches and longing looks. Or perhaps he had, but had the tact to turn a blind eye. With a shake of his head, Albus waved his hand and magically amended the saying to: ‘My dear friend, Elphias.’ There, that was much more… diplomatic.

Since he hadn’t an owl of his own, Albus rolled the note into a tight scroll and slid it into his trouser pocket. It was a warm day out, so he neglected to throw on a jacket over his neatly pressed white shirt and fitted crimson vest with gold buttons. Even having graduated from Hogwarts, Albus still had a fondness for his House colors.

Godric’s Hollow was a small wizarding town, one of only a handful in Britain. Most magical people lived among the muggles, wasting their time on casting complex disillusionment charms and hiding away from their nosy neighbors. The more fortunate — and lonely — witches and wizards lived on isolated properties in the countryside. These were usually the pureblood families.

It was ridiculous. The entire wizarding community was in hiding, terrified of being discovered by muggles with no magic to hurt them. It was oppressive, this society, with the Statute of Secrecy smothering wizardkind before it had a chance to thrive. People acted as if muggles were something harmless and defenseless to be protected. But Albus had seen what muggles were capable of. He wasn’t so bigoted as to hate all non-magic people, but there was something indecent about wizards, the most powerful people on the planet, cowering in fear of bumbling muggles. It left a sour taste in his mouth.

The brisk walk to the post office was relaxing. Here, he didn’t have to hide. There were no muggles in Godric’s Hollow.

At the owlery, Albus nodded curtly to Mrs. Calder, who was nearly asleep at the front desk, before dropping several sickles on the counter before her and making his way to the back to locate his favorite Short-Eared Owl. There were only about ten delivery owls at this post office, since most people at Godric’s Hollow had their own personal ones. The Dumbledore’s weren’t rich, not since Albus’s father was sent to Azkaban, but it wasn’t that they couldn’t afford an owl. They weren’t able to keep any animals in the house. Ariana was easily startled, and any sudden movement could set her off. Even a well-trained owl such as Iremia could chirp at the wrong moment and cause Ariana’s magic to lash out. Albus wasn’t bitter about it, not exactly, but if Ariana would just let him teach her magic, she could learn to control her outbursts. Her outright refusal was only causing herself and others harm.

Albus felt a pang of loneliness as he was reminded of his mother. Kendra Dumbledore had been an extraordinary witch. And it had all gone to waste when Ariana was attacked. After that, she spent all her time indoors, trying to coax Ariana from her near-catatonia. It had worked, to a point. Ariana could now communicate with her family via looks and gestures, although she refused to speak. She hummed softly as she stared out the windows at night, and helped with chores on her good days. But on her bad days, Ariana was a bomb. It had only been a matter of time before their mother was caught in a blast.

Iremia pecked at Albus’s fingers lightly, reminding him of why he’d come. “Good morning, darling,” Albus said to her, stroking her feathers. Iremia hooted softly at him in reply. She was a gentle creature, and Albus was undeniably fond of her. If he were able, he would buy her from the post office immediately. He could almost convince himself that she would be good for Ariana. But alas, that was never going to be an option.

“I have a letter for Elphias Doge, you remember him,” Albus told her.

Iremia blinked at him, listening intently.

“He may send a reply with you, or maybe send his own owl later.” Iremia didn’t need to be told the obvious ins-and-outs of letter delivery, but Albus found it relaxing to talk to her. “Don’t let him send you away without a treat, though,” he warned her. “He’ll say he’s out, but he’s just selfish on behalf of Gretel. You know her, she’s a pompous little thing. I’ve never met a more entitled Screech Owl.”

Iremia bobbed her head like a nod, and stuck out her leg gracefully. As Albus fastened the scroll to her foot, he hesitated. Perhaps the letter had been too distant. He didn’t want Elphias to worry. Perhaps he should have written ‘My dear Elphias’ after all.

But it was too late. Iremia was already ruffling her feathers and taking off out the open window. He’d have to bring her treats later; she never liked eating much before flying.

It was on Albus’s way out of the owlery that he remembered his promise to write to Aberforth and keep him updated on Ariana’s wellbeing. But Aberforth had OWLs to study for, since he’d taken time off school to help their mother with Ariana in the latter half of the previous semester. If he didn’t study hard and retake them by the end of summer, he’d be set back a whole year in school. Albus wasn’t allowing that to happen on his watch. But the sun was out, and the breeze was cool, and Albus decided that Aberforth could wait a few days to hear from him.

On his way back to the house, Albus swung by the cemetery. Most people found graveyards to be chilling, melancholy places, but Albus had a certain fascination with them. Especially the one in Godric’s Hollow, where many of the most famous witches and wizards to have ever lived were laid to rest. It was even rumored that the great Merlin himself was buried there in an unmarked grave, but Albus had never found any evidence of that.

Few people ever visited this cemetery, but as Albus was passing by, he noticed a lone figure dressed in all black standing over a grave. Albus paused. It wasn’t the striking clothing that caught Albus’s eye, nor the stiff, awkward movements of the man as he squatted down to read the epitaph better, but the grave itself that the man was so interested in. No one, save Albus himself, had ever taken interest in that headstone since the Dumbledore’s had moved here seven years ago. Partly because there was a powerful disillusionment charm placed over it that only permitted those familiar with the deceased’s name to notice it. The only reason Albus was able to detect it was because he’d read the name in his studies concerning the Deathly Hallows. It was the final resting place of Ignotus Peverell, one of three powerful brothers, and the supposed owner of the Cloak of Invisibility.

As if sensing his gaze, the man abruptly stood and turned to face him. Even from so far apart, Albus was struck by the man’s beauty. He had golden hair, and high cheekbones, and his piercing blue eyes were fixed on Albus’s. For a moment, neither man moved. But the gentle breeze seemed to be urging Albus forward, so he plucked up his courage and entered the little cemetery. The man in black stayed perfectly still as Albus approached, scrutinizing his every move. Upon closer inspection, Albus realized his companion was younger than he previously thought, a boy in his late teens, probably close to Albus’s age.

“You must be Albus Dumbledore,” the boy said, voice lilting with a German accent. “I’ve read your essays.”

Albus stopped in his tracks, raising his eyebrows. “You have?” he asked, shocked. He hadn’t realized his work was known outside of Britain. He’d published several while still in school, though now he wrote articles for Transfiguration Today as a means of income.

The other boy’s lips quirked up in a smirk, eyes glinting. “Your theory on human transfiguration was fascinating. If a man can become an animal at will, why not another person?”

“The process is different, of course,” Albus replied loftily. “But plenty of wizards are able to transfigure a body part into an animal who aren’t Animagus. Take the infamous Asterion. He was fond of transfiguring his head into a bull’s head, but he wasn’t an Animagus, nor was he able to maintain the transfiguration longer than a few hours.”

“You stated that human transfiguration would be even more difficult to maintain.” The boy’s tone was light, almost playful, yet there was no disguising the sharp intelligence behind those eyes. “That at most, if one managed to successfully transfigure into another person, the change would deteriorate in less than a minute.”

“I did,” Albus confirmed with a smile.

“Interesting,” was all the boy said before lifting his wand and casually waving it in front of his face. Instantly, the boy’s face began to change. His cheeks sank into his skull, as did his eyes which shifted to a greyer shade. His nose lengthened and grew, becoming the most prominent feature on his face. The cartilage of his ears also enlarged, and his skin crinkled. He was beginning to look like a very old man. A long white beard sprouted from his chin as his golden hair lengthened and faded into a matching white.

“Merlin,” Albus breathed, marveling at the splitting image of the most famous wizard to ever live.

“The very same,” said the wizard, and even his accent was gone, replaced with a standard British.

“How long can you hold it?” Albus asked, genuinely curious. This was impressive enough as it was, nonverbal transfiguration — not to mention exceedingly complex and experimental transfiguration — but if he could maintain the illusion for longer than Albus’s estimate… that would be truly remarkable.

“So far, only a couple of minutes,” Faux-Merlin replied, sounding slightly embarrassed.

“Still longer than my estimate,” Albus murmured, raking his eyes over the boy-turned-old-man. There were imperfections here and there that broke the illusion — one hand wrinkled and aged while the other was still smooth and youthful, an eye that twinkled more blue than grey, the hair at the edge of his jaw that seemed blonder than the rest — but all in all the transformation was very convincing.

As if in an effort to reserve his energy, the boy waved his wand again in a lazy gesture and his features morphed back to their original form. “I must say, I’m a fan of your work,” he said in his German accent, those piercing blue eyes fixed on Albus.

Albus huffed a laugh, still breathless from the demonstration. “My theories aren’t much compared to your experiments.”

“On the contrary, I have no name in the magical community, so my dalliances with transfiguration go unnoticed. Your essay, however, caused quite the scandal amongst Animagus theorists.”

Albus felt himself smiling in response. “My theory never threatened common belief about Animagi.”

“But your tone does,” the boy countered, smirk widening into a wild grin. His teeth were a bit crooked, but that only added to the air of unruliness about him.

“Anyone with half a brain could see that Animagi beliefs are outdated and contradictory,” Albus allowed, enjoying the way this mysterious boy was engaging with him.

“Yet you’ve never decried them directly,” the boy mused, tilting his head. His fair hair stopped just above his shoulders, and looked exceptionally soft.

“So far I haven’t needed to,” Albus replied easily.

“And they fund your research,” the blonde added.

Albus let out a surprised laugh. This boy was quite direct. “You must be from Durmstrang,” he said, hoping to get an insight into who this strange boy was.

“Was it the accent that gave me away, or the clothes?” the boy asked, smiling wryly.

Albus laughed again. “Neither, my friend,” he answered. “It was your boldness.”

“I’ve been told I rival Gryffindors in that respect,” the boy teased, looking pointedly at Albus’s red vest. “Shall we test that?”

Albus grinned at him, holding out his hand. “What is your name, sir?”

The German boy grasped it in a firm grip, stepping towards him. “My name is Gellert,” he said, staring into Albus’s soul. “Gellert Grindelwald.”


	2. The Deathly Hallows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's just a short chapter!

What had started out as another boring day in Godric’s Hollow had become an intriguing study into the mind of this German visitor. The Durmstrang boy was sixteen years of age, nephew to the great historian Bathilda Bagshot, who lived only a few doors down from the Dumbledore’s estate. So far, Albus had learned that he was spending his summer before his seventh year with his Aunt Bathilda, conducting experiments and inventing his own spells. Gellert was also very passionate about politics.

“Wizardkind has no reason to fear those who are inferior to them,” Gellert was saying. “It’s as ridiculous as fearing rabbits.”

“A people who have evolved no longer need concern themselves with those who have not,” Albus chimed in agreeably. “The Neanderthals died out. Survival of the fittest has been damaged by the charity of magical folk.”

Gellert grinned, teeth crooked and charming. “I like you, Albus. I believe we could learn a lot from each other.”

“I agree,” Albus replied, smiling himself. Gellert shifted on his feet, and Albus’ eyes flickered down to the grave beside them again. “I must ask, Gellert,” Albus ventured curiously, gesturing vaguely at the stone, “how do you know of the Peverell’s?”

Gellert’s grin widened. “You are familiar as well, I see. Then you must also know their connection to the legend of the Deathly Hallows.”

Albus merely shrugged, aware that most people dismissed such stories as myth and refused to consider the extensive research which provided undeniable similarities between the brothers of legend and the Peverell family. “I do,” he said simply, giving nothing away.

Gellert was not as shy with his beliefs. “Stories become exaggerated and influenced over time of course, but I’ve made it my business to listen to the whispers. There is a wandmaker in Berlin with a secret. I’ve been intending to visit him. I think the Elder Wand would be quite a prize, don’t you?”

“You believe the stories?” Albus questioned cautiously.

“I do,” the boy replied, smirking cheekily. “And so do you, I can tell.”

Albus huffed out a laugh, unnerved by the way this boy seemed to see right through him. “Is that so?”

Without another word, Gellert flicked his wand at the gravestone, and a large cracking sound echoed through the cemetery as the stone split in two. Albus jumped backwards, startled, but Gellert just waved his wand over the empty coffin, undoubtedly scanning for clues. It was believed to be empty as no one had found Ignotus’ remains. Once he’d recovered from the scare and glanced around to make sure no one had seen, Albus stepped forward again, placing himself right next to Gellert, their sleeves brushing as they moved.

“Nothing in here, I suppose,” Albus sighed in disappointment. “Ignotus must have passed it on to his son and so on.”

Gellert frowned, but leaned down further, reaching his hand into the empty air — and stopped. His fingers seemed to grasp the empty air, pinching at space, before he withdrew his hand speedily, taking a shimmering material with it. Suddenly, a corpse stared up at them, decomposed and skeletal, half its flesh still in tact. In Gellert’s hand was an Invisiblity Cloak.

“Is that…?” Albus breathed, voice trailing off as Gellert expertly held the material up the light, turning it this way and that to observe the light refractions.

Finally, Gellert held it out to Albus, pointing to one of the edges. “It’s a fake,” he said, brushing his fingers over a fraying corner. “The real Cloak of Invisibility wouldn’t fade or fall apart.”

“Well, at least we know where his body went,” Albus offered as Gellert laid the cloak over his corpse again. With another lazy wave of his wand, the coffin sealed itself, the cracks melding together with a light click. Another flick and a familiar symbol was ground into the stone below Ignotus’ name.

“The Deathly Hallows,” Albus muttered in awe. “What spell is that?”

“I’ve made it into a calling card of sorts,” Gellert explained breezily. “As a sort of trademark on my work. I invented the spell myself: _Notorcos_ , from the Latin _nota_ meaning ‘mark’ and _orcus_ meaning ‘the Underworld’ or ‘Death’.”

“Incredible,” Albus breathed, staring at Gellert with unadulterated wonder. His long-term crush on Elphias felt years away.

“Have I piqued your interest yet, Albus?” Gellert asked.

Albus’ heart was racing from this encounter, not the least because of the sly look in Gellert’s eyes as he smirked at Albus. “You already had my interest,” he admitted — somewhat breathily, to his chagrin.

Gellert tilted his head at this, eyes quickly running up and down Albus’ body as if assessing him. Albus felt his cheeks heat at the focused stare. After a moment, Gellert met Albus eyes again and gave him a quick wink. “Good.”


	3. A Darker Path

The next day found the two wizards taking a short walk through the nearby woods, along a path Albus had wandered down many a time during the summer months between school. The air was hot and pressed in at them as they walked, but Albus didn’t mind the sweat. Not if it meant he got to watch his new friend wiping his glistening brow with an upturned hand and unbuttoning the top few fastenings of his shirt.

“Albus,” Gellert said, snapping Albus’ attention back to Gellert’s face, where a smirk was forming.

“Yes?” Albus asked, aiming for a nonchalant air, as if he hadn’t just been ogling Gellert’s chest.

“Am I distracting you?” he queried innocently, adjusting one of his lower buttons.

“Not at all, my friend,” Albus replied, an amiable smile appearing on his face. Gellert’s lips quirked downward at that answer, but Albus counted it as a win when he dropped his hand from his shirt. “I agree with your assertion, by the way,” Albus added, hoping to change the topic.

“And which assertion would that be, _my friend_?” Gellert replied, volleying the endearment back at him.

“That the Phoenix is the most powerful magical creature in existence, of course.” The topic of that morning had managed to venture into magizoology as soon as they set foot in the woods. Gellert seemed to have a plethora of opinions on the hierarchy of such beasts.

“Ah, yes. Well, there’s not much contention, is there?” Gellert agreed, holding a branch for Albus to pass by.

“Thank you. But I wouldn’t say there aren’t plenty of powerful creatures out there.”

“Powerful, yes, but we are discussing the _most_ powerful of them all. The Phoenix has incomparable healing abilities, as well as lethal defensive magic, apparition inclinations, and a command over death.” Gellert stopped abruptly to face Albus in consternation. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to argue that the dragon is a contender.”

Albus barked a laugh at that. “Dragons, no! Merlin, I’m not that dimwitted, even next to you.”

Gellert relaxed his face into a smile. “Good to know. I think I would’ve cried if you were a dragon enthusiast.”

Albus rolled his eyes as they continued walking. “Dragons are about as animalistic as you can get — no magical powers to speak of. Just an inordinate amount of strength, and some fire-breathing — which even the muggles have figured out how to do.” Gellert snorted at the comparison, which Albus took as a good sign. Feeling encouraged, he went on, “No, what I was going to suggest was the Thunderbird from the Americas.”

Gellert paused again to face him, scanning Albus with a critical eye. After an uncomfortably long moment, he said, “Thunderbirds. Interesting.” It was as if a lightbulb went off in his head at the thought. “Very interesting. Do you know, Albus, I think you’ve stumbled onto something there.”

“And what would that be?” Albus asked, intrigued not only by the keen mind working a mile a minute behind those crystal-blue eyes of his, but also at the way his thin fingers drummed his thighs and the way his teeth worked at his lower lip. He was the image of genius, gnawing on a problem whose solution tickled the tip of his tongue. Albus could watch him think forever.

“Avians,” Gellert stated, turning his restless gaze fully on Albus.

“Avians,” Albus repeated slowly, hoping to grasp the concept by simply saying the word again.

Gellert grinned suddenly, all crooked teeth and glittering eyes. “Yes, Albus, you see? Avians are the common denominator. Which animals are the smartest out of the usual household pets? Is it the cat, the frog?”

Albus blinked. “The owl, of course.”

“Of course!” Gellert exclaimed, his excitement rubbing off on Albus and making his heart race. “The cleverest beasts are also the most powerful — and why is that, Albus?”

An answering grin finally spread across Albus’ face. “Because knowledge is power.”

Gellert lunged forward and clutched Albus’ biceps, laughing in victory. “The Thunderbird, the Phoenix, the delivery owl — all avians. This could be a major breakthrough in the magizoological field!”

Albus tilted his head. “Well, we have to think this through a bit more, Gellert. I mean, do hippogriffs possess any particular powers to brag of?”

“Intelligence, Albus,” Gellert insisted. “I’m speaking of intelligence. Can you think of any avian species who lack intelligence, or even any non-avians who possess more?”

Albus thought for a moment. “The Sphinx,” he said.

Gellert sighed, releasing Albus’ arms. The sudden loss of contact saddened Albus, and he nearly wished he’d kept his mouth shut — but he was first and foremost a philosopher, and he wasn’t one to sacrifice his credibility for an amorous connection.

“The Sphinx,” Gellert muttered, turning away. “The damn Sphinx.”

Yes, his philosophical integrity came first — and yet — “Perhaps that’s just an extenuating circumstance, though,” Albus offered, “since they are part human.”

Gellert turned back to him, his smile reforming. “Yes, yes, that makes sense. That rules the Sphinx out of the equation entirely.”

Albus was smiling as well as he stepped ahead on the path and held a spindly branch out of the way. “After you,” he said, managing not to blush when Gellert’s searching eyes met his.

“Danke,” he replied, stepping closer to Albus than was strictly necessary to pass him. Albus caught a whiff of clove and — oddly — cigarette smoke as he breezed by. The curious scents only served to intrigue Albus more. When Gellert glanced back and flashed him a grin and a wink, Albus felt himself drawn forward as if by an invisible force. _Merlin have mercy,_ he thought desperately as he followed Gellert deeper down the path. _This boy will be the death of me._

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you want more! :)


End file.
